


Viva Las Vegas

by Paula K (Homiless)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-05
Updated: 2011-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Homiless/pseuds/Paula%20K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Eames haven't seen each other in three months. Neither seems to be better for it when Eames meets up with Arthur and Cobb in Vegas for Cobb's bachelor party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viva Las Vegas

Eames is the first to arrive in Nevada, taking a cab to the hotel where he checks them into a suite at the Luxor. Of all the places to come for Cobb’s bachelor party, Arthur picked Vegas. Apparently, the Point Man hadn’t even needed to Google it – he has two brother-in-laws to use for a reference. Vegas, Arthur stated in his clipped, precise e-mail, is where bachelor parties ‘happen’. Eames’ palms were practically itching to get started – he’d been in a bit of a bind lately and a few days here in America’s playground might just fix things for him. Or ruin him further, possibly, he knows, not that he ever dwells on that sort of thing. His desire to gamble is nothing compared to that of seeing Arthur, however. It’s been three months and the anticipation’s been torture.

So instead, he leaves keys at the desk for Arthur and Cobb and goes up to the suite. The rooms are all ostentatious and overstated – Eames loves it, and no, not just because Arthur will hate it. He sets his bags down inside one of the bedrooms and is about to take a nap when he hears the door to the suite open. Stepping out into the hall, Eames is greeted by Cobb’s open-mouthed, wide-eyed staring and Arthur’s impatient prodding that he please move it along.

“This is unbelievable. Seriously, Arthur… You know, I’ve never even been to Vegas before,” Cobb says, stepping around the bags he’s dropped on the floor and walking to the floor-to-ceiling windows, stopping to pull Eames into a manly-type hug. Eames meets Arthur’s eyes over Dom’s shoulder, grinning at him. There’s something there – something so Arthur – that Eames feels warmth pool in his belly as he moves to pick up Cobb’s bags, walking past Arthur to the bedroom beyond.

“Dom, you’re in here,” Eames calls, grinning as Arthur moves more deeply into the suite, his expression showing more and more distaste with every step. Eames can’t say he doesn’t enjoy Arthur’s discomfort, though his grin does fade to confusion as Arthur walks into the bedroom Eames had chosen for himself.

“Darling, I’m afraid that one’s…” Eames tries, and what he gets for his trouble is Arthur setting Eames’ luggage outside the room on the intricately tiled floor before closing the door. At least Dom has the decency to try to hide his smirk as he watches Eames move to pick up his bags and carry them toward the room beside Dom’s.

“Might I suggest a nap? We’ve got three days to celebrate the last days of your single-hood – you might need to rest up,” Eames suggests before stepping into his new accommodations and closing the door.  
Three hours later, he’s awake again and after a long, hot shower, is pulling out a set of clothes. Not his usual, either. No paisley or print. No rumpled, ill-fitting comfortable corduroys. Eames hasn’t seen Arthur in three months – Arthur’s fault, Eames thinks with a frown – and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t want to make an impression. He wants Arthur to see all of what he’s been missing these past few months. He’d actually shopped in Paris of all places – Eames does know what Arthur likes, after all – sometimes better than even Arthur does.

Trousers – black. Exquisitely tailored. Eames knows exactly how he looks in Tom Ford. Arthur likes an undershirt, so Eames makes sure he wears one under his white Prada dress shirt. It’s sleek – like silk and just thin enough that an outline of Eames’ ink can be seen through it when he strains against the fabric. He wears cufflinks – Arthur has a real thing for them and Eames knows this, too. His shoes are lovely enough that Arthur may even drool a bit – Versace has been known to do that. Adding the matching suit jacket, he steps out into the main sitting room, greeting Dom with a sharp clap to his back.

“Sorry to keep you lovely ladies waiting,” Eames says, not sounding sorry at all, giving Dom and Arthur a dazzling smile. He ignores the way Arthur’s jaw actually clicks as he struggles to keep it closed. “So? Dinner first or are we hitting the tables?” he asks, making sure he’s got his wallet and key card carefully tucked away before leading the three of them out of the room. When Arthur’s hand slides along the small of his back, though, he doesn’t bother pretending not to shiver from his touch.

Dinner goes well – the food is delicious and the wine Arthur chose is perfect. They all agree to head to the Bellagio for some gambling. Just five hours later – early times, by Vegas standards – Cobb’s drunk and has been berating himself for nearly an hour; which is at least 45 minutes longer than Eames thought he could possibly stand. Finally,  
Arthur agreed that yes, it was time to put the man to bed.

“I’m not good enough for her, Eames. Tell me why a woman like Mal would ever want me? I’m…” Dom starts again, and Eames can’t help the sigh of irritation that slips out of him. “You’re the only one for her Dominick. She’s mad about you – you two are going to have a wonderful life together,” Eames says, tone full of exasperation.

“No no… Arthur, tell him. Tell him that I’m too... Too stubborn. Reckless, Arthur… Too rash… She’ll regret this… I really shouldn’t do this. Not to her,” Cobb insists, but Arthur has him now, pulling off Dom’s shoes and tugging down the duvet. “Dom, it’s not about any of that. When two people love each other as much as you and Mal… it’s not about anything but how you make one another feel, alright? And you two… you have something so incredibly special – you’re going to last a lifetime,” he reassures, tucking him in. He plants a kiss on Dom’s forehead because that’s how they are – affectionate and brotherly. Eames just watches now from the doorway, amazed by how open Arthur can sometimes be.  
Arthur moves away from the bed and then walks toward Eames, tugging him along as he closes the door. Eames follows, eyes focused solely on Arthur’s back as they move through the suite.

“I need a drink after all that – care to join me, darling?” Eames asks, walking behind the bar and pouring them each two-fingers worth of single malt. Arthur simply nods, waiting for Eames to bring him his glass.

“Heard you’ve been a bit reckless yourself lately, Mr. Eames. You took that job with Natasha last month – pretty risky, don’t you think?” Arthur asks, though Eames knows he’s not really asking. He’s gearing up for a lecture. One that Eames may not recover from. He needs to stop this before things ramp up to something too ugly to recover from.

“Risky, sure, but… she likes me,” Eames tries, raising his glass in a silent toast. “Arthur,” Eames purrs, stepping closer, but not too close. “We’ve got two days, love. Let’s please not spend it fighting with one another. I… just got you back. Let me enjoy what little time you’re letting me have, alright? Darling?” Eames says, trying for light, but landing nearer to pleading.

“Last time Cobb and I worked with her, she left Nash for dead, Eames,” Arthur replies, not raising his glass.  
Eames thinks he hears desperation in his voice, then, and he hates it. “Nash is a weasel, Arthur. I really think he’s a bigger problem than Natasha, and yet you still take jobs with him.”

“She left him to bleed out in an alley. What if the same had happened to you?” Arthur pushes, setting his glass down, turning away from Eames to stare out the window at the city that never sleeps.  
Eames winces, not that Arthur can see it, but still. He hates that he can’t stop putting that look of concern – or worse, pity – on Arthur’s face.

“Sweetheart…” Eames says softly, letting that one word linger on, moving further into Arthur’s space, stepping behind him, close enough to rest his chin on Arthur’s shoulder. “One way to make sure that doesn’t happen to me is to start working with me again, don’t you think?” he asks, wanting Arthur to agree more than anything.

“You nearly died because of me, too, Eames… last time. I think of that and you and… I don’t think I can do that again,” Arthur says honestly, and Eames looks away, then, fighting the strongest urge to simply wrap himself around Arthur and hold him.

As if sensing Eames’ need, Arthur turns towards him. He puts his hands on Eames’ shoulders, sliding them down his arms, appreciating the fabric of his suit jacket. “Tonight. You looked… No… you look breathtaking,” Arthur admits with a small, sad smile on his face. Eames’ drink is still in his hand, but Arthur is holding his other one, squeezing it gently before he lets it go and steps away.

“I’m going to sleep,” he announces abruptly, stepping out of the moment and away from Eames without looking back.  
Eames listens but doesn’t hear the door click shut. He doesn’t waste much more than a moment on whether that’s an invitation to join him.

Arthur’s bed is still made and he’s sitting in the middle of it, fully dressed but for his shoes. Eames closes the door behind him and leans against it, taking him in. “You are so lovely, Arthur,” Eames whispers, slipping off his suit jacket, hanging it up in Arthur’s closet. It’s the sort of thing that Arthur appreciates – treating beautiful things well.

He slips out of his shoes and socks, tucking them inside. Then he unbuckles his leather belt, lowering the zip of his pants, stepping out of them and hanging those up, too. He takes his cufflinks out and places them on the dresser, seeing Arthur’s extra few pairs resting there, too. He aches at the sight of their belongings intermingled in this way – he shouldn’t want this so damned much. Not when it can’t happen. Arthur, Eames knows, holds all the power here. All Eames wants is forever, but he’ll take this one night since that’s what’s he believes is on offer.

Unbuttoning his dress shirt but not taking it off, he moves to the bed, Arthur’s eyes having never left him since he stepped inside. Climbing onto the bed, Eames leans over Arthur and gets close. Close enough to kiss him, but before he can, Arthur moves, hooking his leg behind Eames’ and rolling them so that Eames is flat on his back. Arthur likes to be on top.

“Your clothes are in my closet,” Arthur mentions, as if he’s not straddling Eames’ thighs, taking his time unbuttoning each button of his waistcoat. Eames doesn’t say anything, knowing his eyes are twinkling at that stellar observation. He does reach up and slide his fingers over Arthur’s shoulders, pushing off his jacket and waistcoat, the silky lining pooling over his knees.

“Your shoes are under my bed,” Arthur goes on, moving gracefully to unbuckle and unzip his own dress pants. Eames’ brows go up in surprise as they get tossed over the side of the bed, but he says nothing because Arthur’s expression is daring him to do it and like Cobb, Eames is also stubborn; he won’t give in.

“Your cufflinks are on my dresser,” Arthur states, this time almost accusingly, but this time he leans down and presses his mouth to Eames’, taking him in a heated, possessive kiss.

“I walked away from you tonight. I wanted to shut the door and lock it – lock you – out, but… I can’t. Seeing you here… You knew exactly what seeing you like this would do to me. Seeing your things beside mine. Eames. You know I don’t just want you for two days; I want you right here like this with me – wherever I am. But if I can’t keep you safe,” Arthur halts, going pale before he lets his face fall onto Eames’ shoulder.

“Arthur, you know what happened wasn’t your fault. You know that. And I’m fine, darling. At least, I’m fine right now. I admit that the last three months haven’t been very kind to me, love. Christ, I missed you. You know I have,” Eames tells him, hands going around Arthur now, fingers stroking up into the soft hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck. He presses kisses to Arthur’s temple and the bridge of his nose and then finally his soft lips. He’s kissing Arthur again, sliding a hand to around to cup his cheek and finally Arthur gives in, moaning and moving, needing them both to be closer.

Their kisses become more heated and Eames lets his hands wander beneath Arthur’s dress shirt – he’s searching for skin, wanting to touch every single inch of his lover. With every touch, he’s telling Arthur how much he’s missed him and Arthur answers, arching into each one, filling the room with his low, soft moans.  
Together, they wriggle out of the rest of their clothes, Arthur taking an extra minute to appreciate Eames’ dress shirt. “Prada was made for you to wear,” he admires before devouring Eames’ mouth again, smiling against his full lips.

“Actually, Prada was made for me to wear for you,” Eames corrects affectionately, rolling his hips into Arthur’s, the need impossible to ignore now that they’re both naked. His hands glide up the backs of Arthur’s thighs, kneading the firm muscles of his perfect, round bottom. “Ride me?” Eames asks, voice rough with arousal. “Let me see you come apart for me, love.”

Arthur’s smile is brilliant and he’s lit from behind by the tall windows – Eames can see everything and drinks in every inch of Arthur’s loveliness. He takes Arthur’s cock in his fist as Arthur goes up on his knees. Where he’d gotten lube from is a mystery, but there’s nothing more beautiful than watching those long, tapered fingers preparing himself for Eames’ cock.

“So beautiful,” Eames murmurs, hand still stroking Arthur’s cock, eyes locked on Arthur’s, body already flexing – hips rocking, knowing just how perfect they are together every single time.

“I’m ready,” Arthur says, panting; gazing down at Eames, catching hold of his hand to keep it still.  
With his free hand, Eames holds his cock so that Arthur can lower himself down on it. The heat makes Eames groan – the pleasure is almost too intense. His whole body craves Arthur and by the time he’s fully seated on Eames’ cock, Eames is sitting up, wrapping his arms around Arthur and bringing him even closer.

“Missed you so much, Eames. Love you so much,” Arthur whispers and Eames lets out a cry, crushing their mouths together. He needs Arthur so badly now, placing his hands on Arthur’s hips, lifting him up just to let gravity pull him back down to him again and again and again. “Won’t leave you again, Eames… no matter what,” he promises, and Eames hopes to God that that’s the truth. Arthur doesn’t ever need to know what the last three months have been like – Eames will never tell him.

When they come, Eames falls first, arms tight around Arthur as he makes possessive bruises on Arthur’s neck. When Arthur comes, Eames’ name falls from his lips and it’s more gorgeous than Eames could possibly remember. Not even he could dream up something this perfect.

They’re nearly asleep in one another’s arms when Arthur shifts, pressing ever closer to Eames’ side. There’s a low, half-conscious chuckle of approval, along with a soothing slide of Eames’ hand down his back before Arthur remembers something he needs to say.

“I know it’s sort of last minute, but… do you have a date for Mal and Dom’s wedding?” he asks, and the sleepy grin feels so right against Eames’ neck that he can’t help but lean over and press his face into Arthur’s hair.

“Of course I do, darling. He’s stunning – can’t wait for you to meet him. He even loves to dance,” Eames tells him, voice soft and quiet in Arthur’s ear. Arthur’s response is to bite Eames on the earlobe, which makes him chuckle again.

“What? You are a wonderful dancer, Arthur. I can’t wait to show you off,” he says, breathing him in deeply and exhaling softly.

“Only for you, Eames. Only for you,” Arthur says, trying and failing at stifling a yawn. In the darkness, he searches and finds Eames’ hand and entwines their fingers, letting them rest on Eames’ chest. He has no intention of letting go again.


End file.
